Chuck vs the Moment
by ne71
Summary: Sarah's going to marry someone else.  And Chuck's not the kind of guy who would stand in the way of her happiness.  Chapter 2 might give you whiplash...
1. Chuck vs the Moment

**Chuck vs the Moment**

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><p>He doesn't react when Sarah tells him.<p>

In the depths of Castle, it's hard to tell if the chill that goes down his spine is the announcement or the manufactured atmosphere, but regardless he doesn't react. He knows Sarah, knows she's studying him closely for any sign of emotion, and if he sits perfectly still he thinks that maybe, just maybe, he can fool her. He knows this is ridiculous; knows that by not reacting at all he's still reacting, but this is all he can think to do at the moment. The only thing he's capable of doing right now is nothing at all.

That night Casey comes over and pours them each a glass of Johnny Walker Black, and they sit in silence until he utters the single word that so perfectly defines Chuck's life at the moment:

"Sucks."

He'd laugh if he wasn't so completely miserable; if he could gather up the strength to claw his way out of the black pit that's swallowed him. Instead he raises his glass in agreement and drinks. When Casey goes home he leaves the bottle, but even that release offers little comfort.

She's tactful about it. She doesn't gush about dresses and flowers in front of him; doesn't ask him if she should wear her hair up or down. Doesn't get affectionate towards Shaw when he's around. She and Shaw are the consummate professionals in front of Chuck, and even Shaw's request that Chuck be one of his groomsmen comes across like a mission assignment. Chuck's polite refusal would feel much more like an act of rebellion if Shaw didn't seem so relieved to receive it.

Months pass, and the only thing worse than the situation he's in is the fact that everyone is on eggshells around him – Ellie and Devon and Morgan and christ even Casey all tiptoe around the 800 pound Gorilla. Time goes by, the gorilla puts on tap shoes and a hula skirt and a pink bow tie and nope, no one's going to talk about it as it crashes into furniture and knocks over vases. And he knows they're all just following his lead, knows they're just doing what they think he wants based on how he's reacting, but a dozen layers down he's hoping, wishing, screaming for them to talk to him. No one does.

He wonders what it will be like in ten years - or twenty, or fifty - to look back on these days. Will he kick himself for not standing up, for not saying more or trying more or doing something, anything to change her mind? He tells himself he's already said all there is to say, already done everything he could do. He repeats this like a mantra just before putting his phone back down, or before walking out of Castle, or before turning his car around when he's halfway to her apartment in the middle of the night. He's done everything he could do, he tells himself, and can only hope that the man he'll become will agree with him.

He resolves himself to the fact that he can't go to the wedding. He can't sit there with all those people and watch the woman he loves slip away. He'll come up with something to tell Sarah when she gets back from the honeymoon, some lie that she won't believe but will appreciate for the effort.

But the night before the wedding he dreams of Prague only this time he tells her that he'll go with her and they get on the train and spend years on the run until finally Beckman contacts them to let them know everything is fine and they come home and get married and have babies and love each other until they die moments apart and—

When he wakes up he feels so painfully close to her, the dream felt so real and now he knows he has to go, has to see her, has to do that much for her after the million times she's saved his miserable life.

He gets to the church hours early for reasons he can't even explain to himself. He sits down in the last pew, looking at the simple decorations, and wonders what this place would look like if it were him. Ellie would have joined in, made the place look like something out of a storybook. Morgan would be fussing over Chuck, insisting on breathing exercises to keep him calm. And Chuck—

Chuck would be calm. For once in his life, he'd be perfectly at ease. Because he'd know he was about to do the greatest thing in his life. For once, he'd have no doubt.

The rustling behind him is on purpose, he knows. She never makes a sound unless she wants you to know she's there. He stares down at his hands.

"You look beautiful."

"You're not even looking at me."

"It's a safe bet," he says, standing up and turning around. Her hair and makeup is done, and the veil is in place, but she hasn't changed into her dress yet. She's in a simple shirt and jeans and the combination throws him off, makes her seem like she's between two worlds.

"See?" he says. "I was right."

She doesn't smile. He wasn't expecting her to. She knows when he's lying.

"You're here awfully early," she says simply.

He wants to tell her, to pour his heart out about how he's dying to just pull her close and hold her, to wring every last moment he can out of the space between now and when she says I do. And for a moment – one brief fleeting instant – he feels like he can say it. The words form on his tongue; every dream and desire he's ever had for the two of them together. But something holds him back, the moment passes, and he shrugs.

"Guess I got the time wrong," he says lamely, and smiles a hapless smile.

She nods, and Chuck can almost see a flash of disappointment, and then she's gesturing over her shoulder.

"Well, then… I'm going to go get dressed."

"Okay," Chuck says. "I'll see you at the main event."

She stands there for half a second too long, and then is gone. He settles back into the last pew and waits for his life to end.

He knows he'll be all right. Knows that eventually he'll recover; that he'll get back from the dark place and that his life will swing back to the center. That's not the problem. The problem is that, for a while, with her in his days, he caught a glimpse of an amazing life. For a while he had something he'd previously thought to be so far out of reach. Something beautiful. And now the best he can hope for is just to be all right again. To be at the middle. To go from living to simply being alive.

Hours pass.

Casey walks her down the aisle; getting Shaw to look the other way long enough to tolerate a con man at his own wedding was apparently too much to ask. His eyes meet Chuck's as they pass by, and Chuck can see a repeat of that night months ago, drinking Johnny Walker in his apartment, this calloused old soldier taking pity on his annoying albatross.

He feels her not looking at him. Feels the weight of countless unrequited gestures and rebuffed advances. Feels years (years!) of frustration and heartache at being so close to someone he cares so much about and not being able to do a damned thing about it. Feels the impact finally hitting him of a lifetime of being the nice guy, of stepping aside for the greater good, of putting others before himself. And if he thought it was unbearable before, he knows that now it will simply double each day; from now until the end of his life.

They reach the altar, the ceremony progresses, and then it finally happens. He feels an influx of energy, a sudden rush of power to his limbs. It is everything and nothing like a flash.

The minister asks if anyone objects.

Chuck stands up.

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><p><em>My apologies to anyone looking for my usual stuff. This one haunted me and wouldn't go away. <em>


	2. Casey vs the Fallout

_Oh, come on. You didn't think I was going to leave it at that, did you? _

_What's that you say? I have a nasty habit of ending stories right when they're getting good? Well, I can't argue with that. So, in retribution, I give you Chapter 2. Heed the rating, because this one has language and other naughty stuff. _

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><p>Chuck vs The Moment<br>chapter II  
>Fallout<p>

All hell breaks loose.

The priest asks if anyone objects (and for the record who the hell actually asks that anymore, I was under the impression that it was the goddamned 21st century), and the moron actually stands up to say something I can't quite make out because I'm already thinking about the eight different ways I'm going to kill him, when suddenly I catch movement out of all the corners of both my eyes.

The other groomsmen tense up in a way that tells me they're more than the cousins and buddies Shaw made them out to be. Three guests, one at my ten and two at my one, twist around in their seats a little further than they need to, one arm each going to their backs. And that bridesmaid I was absolutely positive I was going to nail later on reaches into the fabric of the surprisingly tasteful gown Walker picked out for what can only be one reason. And Shaw—

Shaw sighs. Sighs, like this is a minor inconvenience, and turns to his best man, who's waiting for the order.

"Might as well. Try not to hit my folks."

Well, dip me in honey and throw me to the Democrats.

I reach for my own piece and bite back a curse, because speaking of Walker, who picked this one time to insist that no one in the bridal party carry guns?

The mouth-breather behind me gets a nose full of elbow as the other groomsmen draw. Slutty Bridesmaid gets the hint and starts fumbling for her piece, and I take that second to grab the best man's head and knock it into Shaw's. The three bogeys in the back rise up, and Bartowski finally clues in. A second later he starts doing his spastic flashing thing.

Shaw stumbles from the blow, and as I rush past him I see the stunned look on Walker's face. Gonna need to buy her a second to snap out of it. I reach Slutty Bridesmaid and grab up under her dress.

"Relax, doll," I hiss at her as I pull the gun out from under the fabric. "I was gonna be doing that later anyway." I elbow her out of the way, take aim at Shaw, and fire point blank at his chest.

The shot echoes out through the church as Shaw jerks back with the impact, and finally, finally Walker blinks.

And then, like I said before, all hell breaks loose.

Shaw's guys start firing; I make a dive behind the organ and sneak a look at Bartowski, who's throwing something – hymnals? – at the bogeys in the back of the church. We're gonna have to have a little chat later on about separation of church and state, but for now I guess I can let it slide.

I wait out the first round of bullets that slam into the heavy organ, then pop up from cover to squeeze off a few shots. And there's Walker, little miss "I don't want any guns at my wedding" Walker, suddenly with two fists full of throwing knives, taking out one bogey at the back of the church and a couple of Shaw's groomsmen. I'd be ticked off at the double standard if she didn't look so damned good. Bartowski better seal the deal after this, or I might have to take a shot of my own.

Speaking of the geek, for some damn reason he's hightailing it down the aisle, elbowing his way through the panicking crowd, a look on his face that says something's very, very wrong. I see one last groomsman standing, bringing his aim up on Bartowski, and take him out with my last shot before he can level his gun, but Bartowski's still fighting his way through the crowd to the front of the church.

And then, just as he finally makes his way past the retreating masses, I see it. Walker's scanning the crowd for any more of Shaw's people, I'm holding an empty gun, Bartowski's still a few steps away…

And Daniel Shaw is sitting up, taking aim at Walker.

I'm too damn far. Only thing I could do now is throw my empty gun at him, which always reminds me of those old Superman serials where the bullets bounce off of him but he ducks when the gun comes sailing at his head. Regardless, I don't even have time for that. The only thing I can do is yell—

"WALKER!"

She snaps her head around at me, sees where I'm looking, and starts to turn towards Shaw. She doesn't even finish that move in time.

Shaw fires, but Bartowski is already jumping, throwing himself between Walker and the gun, and as the bullet hits him Walker reacts, throwing her last blade, nailing Shaw in the wrist, making him drop the gun. It hits the floor at the same time Bartowski does.

Walker's frozen again, so while Shaw howls out in pain I stride over and stomp on his face. He shakes it off somehow, looks up at me, and the son of a bitch actually _smiles_ through the blood gushing out of his nose. Something shifts and twists in the back of my head. I'm gonna tear this prick limb from limb from limb. I reach down, grab his collar, and pound him in the nose again, putting him out. I pull my fist back to keep the good times rolling when I hear Walker behind me.

"Casey."

She's down on her knees, cradling Bartowski's head in her lap. Her hands are shaking, moving around the kid's body, trying to figure out where the bullet hit him. She touches a spot just above his waist and jerks a blood-covered hand back. I drop Shaw and pull my phone out to call for a medic as Walker cradles Bartowski's face, pleading for him to wake up, to stay with her.

"Ambulance is a couple minutes out. They'll get here in time."

She nods vacantly, keeps calling for the kid to wake up. Suddenly, his eyes snap open, and glare at, of all things, me.

"Thought you shot him."

Little prick. Suddenly Walker's laughing, pressing her lips to his forehead. He's still glaring at me.

"I did. He's wearing a vest."

"Who the hell wears a bulletproof vest to a wedding?"

"I'm wearing a bulletproof vest."

"Asked and answered," the little prick says, and drops his head back into Walker's lap. Yeah, he'd better milk this while he can.

I search Shaw and find a Ring phone. Probably one of these on all of his guys. "How did you know Shaw was Ring?"

The blood runs out of Walker's face as she turns to look at the phone in my hand. Bartowski blinks a couple times.

"Um… I didn't."

"Then why did you—" He looks up at Walker, and I finally get it. "So, did it hurt?"

"Getting shot? Yes, Casey. It hurts quite a bit."

"Not getting shot, moron. Finally growing a pair. Must have been painful this late in life." Sirens are blaring outside the church, so I head towards the doors. I can feel the kid glaring at me as I walk away, and I'm glad he can't see the smile on my face. Probably a little more proud than I'd rather admit.

XXX

The paramedics get Bartowski stable and in the ambulance, and Walker's standing by the doors in her bloodstained wedding dress. Probably for the best, it's not the one I would have picked out anyway. She sees me and heads over.

"I'm going to ride to the hospital with Chuck."

"That'll be an interesting sight," I say, nodding at the ruined dress.

She looks down and shrugs. "Red's more my color anyway."

I laugh at that, a good hearty one. I haven't had many of those in my life, and certainly not lately. Walker seems to appreciate it. "You're okay here?" she asks.

"Cleanup crew is en route, and when they're finished I'll debrief Beckman. Go look after the kid."

She touches my shoulder, starts to say something, then thankfully turns to walk away. I'm thinking I've dodged the lady feelings when she stops and turns back. "Casey?"

"Yeah?" I ask, wincing.

"I know this is premature. Chuck's got to recover, and then he and I have a lot we need to talk about. But when that's all behind us, I'm going to ask you a favor."

Still wincing. "What's that?"

"I'm going to need you to turn off the surveillance for a while."

That one throws me. "Why?"

"Because no two people in history have screwed like I'm gonna screw that guy in the ambulance."

She doesn't wait for a reply, just gathers up the skirt of her dress and marches towards the doors. And a few seconds later, when the shock wears off, I laugh again.

"Way to go, kid."

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><p><em>So, there you go. Ultra-happy ending. I know, it was ridiculous, but it was a hell of a lot of fun to write. Also, the previous chapter was uncharacteristically depressing, even with the ambiguously hopeful ending. So, in exchange for sticking with me, your reward is guns and knives and Casey being awesome. It's the anti-Chapter 1.<em>

_Speaking of Chapter 1, thanks to everyone who reviewed. You're my favorite kind of favorite people. _

_-Nick_


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